Skylines & Stargazing
by bonnie-incognito
Summary: Masked ball at midnight, be ready by noon, we will be taking the train to the moon... 100 moments in the life of Regulus Black, written for the 100Quills challenge.
1. Perfume

-x-

_p e r f u m e_

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He can still smell the perfume, a bittersweet reminder of days gone by; a fruity scent follows him out of the house (oh, the empty, _dead_ house), trailing him softly as a shadow, swift as a silent lioness through the dark.

He recognizes it, and he does not know why; it brings back the faintest recollections of a time, a place, an age he never knew, an inexplicable moment of remembrance of a girl he once knew, a girl skipping through the meadows of his dreamt reality, fluffy clouds drifting across the azure sky and the watery spring sun beating down on her white, plaited hair. She went barefoot, a pretty, flowery dress offering her porcelain skin only the bare minimum of protection from the things out to hurt little girls.

A harsh wind whipped across his face, the scent now adrift on the midnight summer breeze, lost amongst the sickly-sweet stench of decay in the air.

The little girl was dead now, the skies grey and the clouds black; a storm brewed in the distance, and the girl lay still in the grass. Her hair was matted with blood and her dress was ripped and torn, her feet dirty and limp beneath her. Innocent.

An icy wind blew in from the west, her dress rustling around bent, broken legs and her fair eyelashes fluttering over closed, blue eyes.

This was where the angels met his nightmares in a grey and stormy meadow, his playmate lying dead upon the ground.

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_So... my first effort for the 100Quills challenge, for which I caimed Regulus and have yet to write another 99 chapters for. Reivew? I mean, come on, it takes all of two seconds to type 'I like it' or 'I hate it' (preferably the former! And a little more detail... ) And no, you can't sue me when it takes you three seconds to type 'It's okay' or 'sucks', because that's what's called nitpicking, people... _:) 


	2. Picture

"There you are, Cissy; pretty as a picture." Bella proudly puts the finishing touches to her sister's tiara. A three-year-old Regulus sits upon the dresser, legs swinging beneath him as he watches his cousins. He thinks they're playing dress-up again. He's not entirely sure what 'pretty as a picture' means, but he agrees that she does indeed look very nice, with the jewelled headband nestling in a soft blanket of champagne locks and a crimson velvet bow tied around her waist as she twirls joyously around the little room.

He doesn't quite understand the concept of 'birthday' yet, but had certainly enjoyed frolicking in discarded wrapping paper earlier that morning. Andy giggles from the bed and snaps a quick photograph of her sister bending to scoop up the smiling infant and proceeding to dance him round the humble boudoir as he blows sticky chocolate-kisses at the three laughing girls. The camera is soon thrown aside in favour of clutching at her ribs in fits of hysterics as Cissy attempts to imitate Bella's idea of a 'ladylike' walk and composed composure, pouting her lips and waggling her backside at the mirror.

_All that can be seen through the tiny window is a little boy, surrounded by dancing figures silhouetted against the cosy yellow light; the very picture of a happy family._

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**Sorry about the huge wait! My internet's been down a lot and I haven't able to access my prompt table. :( Review? **


	3. Tea

These children

Sat beneath the cherry tree

And played the midnight game

With cold milky tea

In faded china cups

With faded china saucers

Faded china lifetime

In their laps

As they sat cross legged

Arrived, one by one

Died, one by one

As the faded china lifetime killed them all


	4. Photograph

**What's this? Bonnie updating? No - it can't be!** **Ah, but it is... You know how much I appreciate your feedback!**

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photograph

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Oh, how clichéd, he thought, somewhat cynically, as he gazed at the tattered corner of the photograph peeking out from underneath the old wooden chest. Black ironwood, if he remembers correctly. Olea laurifolia.

The chest didn't matter anymore, of course; it was _hers_. Andromeda had become a dirty word in this household as of 1971, never mind Narcissa's Astronomy homework. It smelled strongly of musty dampness – and her favourite perfume, but he would not allow himself to acknowledge this forbidden familiarity that crept regardless into his nostrils.

Instead, it was the photograph that caught his attention. He eased it out and brushed off the dust that had gathered on the surface. The little paper rectangle was worn and aged, a few pin holes decorating the top and a scrawled caption on the back reading, '_1964: Cissy's 9th B-day_'. He flipped it back over to stare at the faded sepia image, his eyes hungrily sweeping over his childhood; Narcissa, reaching down to dance with him in her pristine white dress, Bellatrix, laughing in the background, a hairbrush clutched in her little hands and two front teeth missing, while Andromeda, presumably, took the photograph.

He permitted himself a smile, even a stifled chuckle of delight at the way these three murderers, shown in a moment as the very picture of a happy family, had once been. Not much had changed, it seemed; Regulus, the eternally babied, Andy, always out of the picture, Cissy, dominating the social scene, and Bella, still dancing to someone else's catchy tune.


End file.
